


Repentance

by Clovae



Category: Original Work
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, Cults, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Gen, Mutilation, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 10:38:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20095915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clovae/pseuds/Clovae
Summary: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯





	Repentance

The young woman finds herself sitting in a dark room, hands wringing together uneasily as she stared at her feet. She was waiting for what was assuredly a painful death— she failed so spectacularly and it almost cost her the lives of other Swordsmen. She was weak. She was worthless to them. They were going to kill her and finally put her out of their misery.

She nearly jumped out of her chair when the door behind her creaked open with an unsettling screech. She realized she was shaking, and her arms went to wrap themselves around her as a pair of slow, meticulous footsteps approached her from behind. 

“Arleski told me what you did.” A gloved hand was placed on her head, smoothing her hair comfortingly. It calmed her, for a moment. Maybe he wasn’t mad? Maybe she would be okay? But his voice still dripped with venom, and that made the young woman uneasy.

“Or rather, what you _didn’t_ do.”

She let out a sharp help as he yanked her hair back by the scalp, forcing her to look up at the figure which looked over her from behind.

As her sad eyes met his sharp ones, she realized she was dead.

Soile let out a sob as his hand released its grip on her, and the infamous leader of The Swords paced around the meek woman like a vulture.

“When you joined us,” he started, his arms folded behind him, “You told me you would not rest until every dangerous Abyssal in this city was found dead, or worse.” He was like a sculpture, tall, rigid, and picturesque in every way. He was all sharp edges and pressed seams and not a single thing was soft about him at this moment. “Was that a lie, Soile?”

The way he said her name made her heart feel warm, for just a moment. He’d said her name like that before, and it made her feel soft. But then she remembered that he was going to kill her, and fear became the primary emotion in that moment.

Her voice came out weaker than she had hoped it would. “No, it wasn’t.” She could almost feel herself growing smaller. 

He hummed in acknowledgement. “I see.”

It was another moment before he spoke again, moving to lean against the wall in front of her, arms crossed against his torso.

“When I give you direct orders, what are you supposed to do?”

Soile gulped, her hands wringing together again. “Follow them.” Her voice was quiet, like she was afraid of the simple act of speaking.

He raised his eyebrows expectantly. “What was that?” He leaned in a bit, feigning ignorance.

“Orders. I-I’m supposed to follow them.” She stared back down at her feet, trembling.

“And why didn’t you?”

She wanted to bolt. “He was just a k-kid.”

“But he nearly killed to of our brothers. What does that make him?”

“...A monster.”

“And now there’s a blood-hungry Abyssal on the street who could be killing unassuming Humans and Celestials because of  _ you _ .”

Soile was losing her composure, and she knew if she said the wrong thing or looked at him the wrong way, she was a dead woman. She was terrified.

She heard his footsteps walk back over to her, and her eyes twisted shut in fear that he’d slap her or kill her on the spot. Instead, a soft hand tilted her chin up to look at him. She opened her eyes hesitantly, and that’s when she realized she was crying. The fabric of the glove felt nice as he wiped away some of her tears, and it was easy to forget how harsh those hands could be.

“I’m not going to kill you, Soile.” He spoke, voice soft and kind. Soile gasped out a relieved sob. She was going to live, and she was going to be alright. She was going to live. 

“Th-Thank you,” she whispered, trying to give him a gracious smile, but she found that it was difficult to smile through the tears. She felt stupid, like she was worried about something trivial.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he started, yanking her by the collar of the shirt and forcing her on her feet, “Bad girls still need to learn their lesson.”

It was then that Soile knew that she wasn’t going to be killed— it was going to be much, much worse.

She started babbling apologies and trying to move away from him in a desperate attempt to save herself, but she wasn’t strong enough to release herself from his grip. She struggled. At least she could say that.

He backhanded her across the cheek so hard she fell to the floor. He wasn’t done though. “If you can’t stay quiet, I may have to cut out that tongue of yours.” He pulled her back up by her left wrist, his grip so tight Soile feared she’d lose circulation to her hand. It would definitely leave bruises later.

He pinned her against the wall, outstretching the hand he held high above her head. His other hand went down to his belt and pulled out a knife.

And then she felt a sharp pain in her left hand, and she screamed. She felt rather than saw— the knife went right through her hand, essentially pinning it to the wall. Blood began trickling down her arm, staining the white sleeves of her shirt a dark, vile color. 

She started to raise her free hand to try to pull the knife out, but he slapped it back down. Soile was afraid he’d stab her other hand, too, if she wasn’t compliant.

“I’m going to give you two options.” His voice was smooth and confident despite having just driven a knife straight through the palm of her hand.

“Either we play a little game,” he began, whipping out another knife and twirling it as he spoke. “Or you start losing appendages.”

She was silent. She knew what that meant. She’d seen the other women here. Some of them said they’d lost fingers in a kitchen mishap, but everyone knew. They all knew. They were the brave ones. It was hard to look some women in the eyes the longer they’d been around, with all their fingers intact. Those were weak ones.

Both options were terrible and wrong, and Soile found herself at a terror-filled crossroads. It wasn’t until she felt him looming over her, one hand tight around her hip while the other one trailed a knife up her clothed thigh— sharp, but never cutting. 

“You’re so fragile,” he commented as the knife continued its ascent. Up her skirt, up her blouse, finally coming to rest at the crux of her neck, where it lingered for a moment. “You’re so weak.”

The knife tore down her collar, splitting her shirt open just down to her sternum. It was a threat. Soile needed to make a choice before he chose for her, but it was hard to think through the stress and the pain in her hand.

It was only when he began hiking her skirt up her legs that she began to truly panic. 

“N-No! Stop! I-I don’t want to play the game!”

And almost instantly, he stepped away, and Soile gasped out a breath of relief.

And then the knife came down on the little finger of the hand that was pinned to the wall. She let out a cry— It wasn’t a clean cut.

“Oh, dear me. Looks like I forgot to sharpen this one.”

The second strike went through, and the appendage fell to the cold, hard floor.

Soile sobbed, slumping against the wall where she stood pinned to it. The man pulled free the knife holding her hand to the wall, and the woman crumpled to the ground.

Her mind was foggy with pain and she felt sick to her stomach. She heaved, throwing up her breakfast on the ground beside her. She had to scoot away to avoid staining her skirt with her own bile.

She deserved this. Her choice almost the lives of people she knew, and she was lucky all she was losing was a finger. But she hated it. It hurt. It hurt so much, and there was nothing she could do about it.

She made her choice.

She leaned forward so that her face was in the fabric of her skirt, trying to hide her face. It was shameful. She didn’t have to lose a finger. She could’ve just played the game. At least then she wouldn’t be in so much pain. She could have suffered through it.

She thought about the brave women before her who’d stood their ground. They would be proud of her for her choice.

She made the right decision. She deserved the pain. She was one of the brave ones.

Soile hadn’t noticed the man leave, and she hadn’t noticed him come back, but when she looked up, she saw that he was holding a first aid box. 

His gaze was soft when their eyes met, kneeling down in front of her and dirtying his expensive pants in the process. He didn’t seem to care. He reached for her injured hand, and she shakily lifted it with all the hesitance of a dog that had just bit the hand that feeds. 

He treated her like she was a fragile, porcelain doll— his gentle hands tending to her wounds with the utmost softness and care.

“I don’t like doing that, you know.” His voice was quiet, like he was telling her something sacred.

She’d stopped sobbing at this point, but her eyes and cheeks were still red and she could already feel a bruise forming where he’d hit her before. 

It hurt. 

But when he looked at her that way, she realized that she can’t stay mad. She deserved this. She was lucky he didn’t outright kill her.

She kinda hoped he had.

He let her newly bandaged hand down, and it fell to her lap, limp. She tried closing her fist, but without a finger… she could feel her eyes sting with tears again.

One of his hands went to her face, stroking where he’d hit her, still being so gentle. She leaned into his touch. It amazed her how he could be so ruthless and so sweet at the same time. 

“Can you forgive me?” He asked, his soft gaze meeting her pained one. 

She didn’t want to forgive him. She wanted to hate him. She wanted him to die for what he’d done.

But that was a lie. 

She couldn’t be upset. She couldn’t blame him for what he’d just done. He was so merciful to her— he gave her a home, a place to belong, and he’d protected her from far worse fates. She owed him her life, and he could take it at any given moment.

He owned her.

“Of course,” she spoke, giving him a sad smile.

He leaned back and opened his arms, and she found herself crawling into his embrace, mutilated hand resting on the collar of his crisp white shirt. He wrapped his arms around her— gentle, but firm. He could break her at any moment— she knew that. But he never would. He’d never hurt her.

She did this to herself.

She buried her face in his neck, hiding her face in shame.

He whispered a warning into her ear. A promise.

_ “Don’t disappoint me again, or I’ll be taking more than fingers.” _


End file.
